‘You’re doing great, Rose,’ he said.
‘Thanks,’ she replied. ‘Now keep moving – you’re putting me off!’
He gave a slow smile. God, he was gorgeous when he smiled. And she was incredibly, incredibly sweaty and didn’t want him anywhere near her.
‘Final pose,’ he said, once they had held their toes long enough, and a mass exhalation of breath went round the room. ‘The Bridge,’ he added, and he demonstrated. The Bridge was basically one of those hideous moves from way back when, in gym classes at school: lie on back, shove knees and pelvis into the air; hold for thirty bloody seconds while your life flashes before you. As Paul demonstrated, his pelvis was alarming tilted in Tamsin’s direction and she looked like she didn’t know what to do with herself. Rose caught her eye and had to fight with herself not to burst out laughing. She looked to Wendy and JoJo and Sal instead but they were in silent fits, too.
‘Something funny?’ asked Paul, as he descended to the floor and returned his pelvis to the constraints of gravity, much to Tamsin’s obvious relief.
‘No. Sorry,’ said JoJo. ‘We’re fine. Nothing is funny at all.’
‘Good. Right, your turn, everyone. On the beat, Bridge!’
They all lay on their backs and thrust their pelvises skyward.
Rose looked at Sal. Oh, the urge to giggle was still absolutely terrible. Paul was parading around the room again. Not now, Paul, Rose pleaded internally, not now, but of course he walked right past her, business end. Great! Full-view front bottom. She wanted to shrivel up and die, but that was unlikely to happen. All she could hope for was dissociation. She’d read about it. She could detach her mind from her body and look at her herself from above, from a great height, Nope, that was no good. All she could see was the embarrassingly damp gusset; it was probably like the Great Wall of China and you could see it from space.
Finally, Paul moved on. Thirty seconds was up and Rose fell thankfully out of The Bridge and into a heap on the floor. She decided – and it was one of life’s more easy decisions – that she hated yoga. She’d always thought she might and now it had been unequivocally confirmed. The only bit she had a chance of enjoying was ‘cool down’ or ‘Savasana’ as Paul called it. It involved the Corpse Pose and Rose certainly felt like one. They had to lie on their backs, extend their legs and splay their arms out from their sides. For three minutes. This she could cope with; it also allowed opportunity for Rose to have a good old look at Paul as he continued walking round the group, while she was safe to do so. Nice feet, she thought. Toned calves – his yoga pants were three-quarter length. His bum was round and firm. Good glutes. Fantastic biceps. Stuff hot yoga – he was hot! She really fancied him, she decided, and why not? Jason was having an affair; she could certainly admire another man if she liked. It was nothing in comparison. And it felt fantastic. It felt lovely to fancy someone again.
She closed her eyes so the staring didn’t become too obvious. She let her mind drift off to tropical shores as hot as this room. She was on a beach, lying on a towel near the surf. Paul was coming out of the ocean in a Daniel Craig-esque pair of blue swimming trunks, his hair wet and slicked back, his skin glistening as droplets of seawater evaporated off it in the sun. He shook his head, like a puppy, and sprinkled her in salty raindrops; she squealed in delight. Then he bent down beside her. He was gently rubbing lotion into her shoulders, her thighs, that lovely sensitive bit near her collarbone . . . her forehead.
‘What are you doing?’
Rose opened her eyes to Paul’s face, above hers, and the smell of Vick’s Vapour Rub. He was rubbing something into the side of her forehead in a circular motion and it stank.
‘Massaging you with Temperate Balm,’ said Paul. ‘It’s common practice at the end of a session.’
‘Oh, right. Are you doing everyone?’
‘Yes.’
‘OK.’
She closed her eyes again. Wow. Apart from the heinous smell, she began to really enjoy Paul gently rubbing her temples, in a toe-curling kind of way. It was so unexpected, so intimate. And, with the whole Daniel Craig thing still in her mind, a little sexual too, if she was honest. She was now feeling way too hot.
Finally, and leaving her in a mild state of anticlimax, he moved on to do it to someone else.
‘Well done, ladies,’ said Paul finally and she opened her eyes to see him making his way to the front of the room. ‘You’ve done really well. Please sit up, cross-legged, if you can, and I’ll release you from the session.’ Ooh, she liked the sound of that, too, thought Rose. Now she had felt the touch of his fingers, she bet Paul could release her in all sorts of ways. She was feeling so saucy in all this sweaty heat. She hadn’t felt like this for years. She felt invigorated, alive. Paul seemed to read her mind and, catching her eye, winked at Rose in such a sexy way she blushed from her head right down to her exercised toes. Perhaps the knickers and the less-than-perfect bum hadn’t put him off her, after all? Perhaps he still thought she was pretty, that she was nice, all the things he’d said last night that had thrilled her beyond belief. She was hardly in her prime – she knew that – but Paul didn’t seem to care. At this very moment he looked like he really fancied her, too, which tickled her pink in all sorts of places.
‘I haven’t sat crossed-legged since 1992,’ said Sal, trying to ease her legs over one another.
Rose laughed. ‘I’m not sure I can either,’ she said. She tucked one leg under and let the other just flop out in front of her. ‘That will have to do.’
‘I bow to all of you,’ said Paul, with a smile. He was sitting cross-legged at the front of the class, his perfect toes perfectly positioned. ‘For completing this class. Which is what the Sanskrit word “Namaste” means. “I bow to you”. Let’s say “Namaste” together and go off energised and revitalised. I feel it,’ he said, looking at Rose, ‘I hope you feel it, too.’ Oh, she felt it all right. ‘Place your hands together, against your heart, as though in prayer. Namaste.’
‘Namaste,’ they all repeated. Rose whispered it, all a-fluster. She was so hot. She was so bothered. She needed to get out of here now, and calm herself down.
‘And that’s it!’ said Paul. ‘Thank you for coming. This afternoon’s Mind Gymnastics should be a kind of extension of this class – yoga of the mind, if you will. Try and stay in the zone over lunch. See you again soon.’ And, with that, he got up and strode out of the room. They all got up too, in not such a sprightly fashion, but despite everyone’s moans and groans and complaints about aching body parts, nearly all of them were smiling; probably because it was over.
Sal walked with Rose to the door. Her face was all sweaty and she’d tucked her hair behind both ears. She was a dead ringer for something from The Hobbit.
‘I bet I look like something from The Hobbit, right?’ she acknowledged, wiping the sticky patch of balm off her forehead with her hand.
‘Well, I wasn’t going to say anything . . .’
‘You all right?’
‘Yeah. Why not?’ said Rose.
‘Paul, that’s why not. If I’m not mistaken, there’s been a lot of silent flirting going on this morning.’
‘How dare you!’ protested Rose, but she was giggling. ‘Yeah, I know,’ she said. ‘But I don’t see why I shouldn’t be flirting with him, as I said last night.’
‘This “affair” thing.’ Sal frowned. ‘Far from me to be the purveyor of any sort of moral high ground here – I’m sleeping with my chef, after all – but don’t get carried away with Paul when you don’t know for certain what’s happening with Jason. I know JoJo has said the same, but talk to him when you get home.’
‘I’ll talk to him—’ Rose pouted ‘—and I won’t get carried away with Paul. It’s just a bit of harmless flirting, that’s all, and if it’s making me feel good, why not? I haven’t felt good for a long time, Sal.’
‘OK,’ said Sal. ‘I understand. But please talk to Jason. About everything, not just this Susie
business: Hong Kong, the future, the girls, how you see each other.’
‘I will. I’ll talk to Jason as soon as I get home on Monday,’ said Rose. ‘I promise.’
‘Good girl.’
She would, thought Rose. She definitely would. But for now she was going to continue to enjoy herself. Tomorrow could wait.
As they walked through the lobby to the lifts – they had an hour to get showered, have lunch and meet for this intriguing-sounding Mind Gymnastics that afternoon – the twenty-something blondes Rose recognised from the bar yesterday morning gaggled up to them in a giggling group. They all had identikit ponytails and their faces were make-up free and glowing as only under-thirty faces could be.
‘Hi,’ said the girl at the front, who had over-arched eyebrows and a tiny pink mouth. ‘We’re told we’re sharing a Mind Gymnastics class with you this afternoon. You’re doing the Health and Rejuvenation, right? We’re doing the Glamour Pamper Package, but our reflexology with hot oils has been cancelled this afternoon and we wanted to do something else. We were told to look out for a bunch of middle-aged women.’
Twenty-somethings, thought Rose. Always a delight. When she’d been one, had she ever been so scathing about older woman? Probably. Youth was not only wasted on the young, but spent smugly thinking it would last for ever.
‘That’s us,’ said Sal sarcastically. ‘Past-it old dragons. Glad you’ll be joining us.’
The front girl – and, boy, did she have some front, in more ways than one – let Sal’s comment go over her head. Either that or she simply agreed with it.
‘Is it two or two-thirty?’ she asked. ‘I keep forgetting.’
‘Two,’ said Sal. ‘And I thought it was just batty, middle-aged women who had minds like sieves. See you later.’
The girls got that one – they burst into silly giggles and skittered off, nudging each other with smooth, unwrinkled elbows.
‘Bitches!’ declared Sal.
‘Sal!’ chided JoJo.
‘Well, middle aged-women indeed! How dare they? Look at us, in our bulging, sweaty gym knickers and our unsightly slogan t-shirts that are three sizes too small. We’re not just gorgeous, we’re in our bloody prime!’
‘Too right!’ agreed Wendy.
They laughed as they stepped into a lift and went up to the third floor. They were still laughing as they got to their rooms and stripped off their sweaty gear. Sal went into the bathroom for a wee and Rose sat down on the bed, in the hotel dressing gown (at least they got one, for the room, if not for luxurious days round the spa), and checked her phone.
There was a message on the screen. She saw the words ‘I’m so sorry’ and hurriedly clicked on it. It was from Jason.
I’m so sorry but I have to fly back to Hong Kong tonight, urgent work issue – BIG problems! I’ve contacted your mum and dad and they’re coming to stay with the girls, all sorted. Sorry xx Ps. Not sure if I’ll be back for Wendy’s wedding but I’ll keep you posted x
She didn’t know why Jason bothered to put kisses. She didn’t know why he bothered to say ‘sorry’. He never wanted to kiss her these days and he wasn’t sorry at all. He was probably pleased to be leaving them all again, leaving them to their dull lives – full of too much oestrogen and make-up and girls’ talk – and winging his way back to his exciting, exotic one . . . the one with bloody Susie in it. ‘Poor Dad,’ Katie, in particular, always said. Yes, poor old Dad, thought Rose now, away for two months out of three; living it up in five-star apartments; eating gourmet meals in exciting, trendy restaurants; working outdoors in blistering sunshine or inside in cool, sleek high-rise offices, in one of the most fabulous cities in the world; coming home for a couple of weeks at a time to dip into family life before bogging off again . . . and having hot sex on his desk in his office . . . Poor, poor Dad.
Rose threw the phone on the bed in anger. It bounced off and fell onto the carpet, where she left it. Damn Jason! Damn him and his career and his keeping her ‘posted’ and his BIG problems. They had big problems! The biggest. That’s what he should be ‘sorting’.
Sal came back out of the bathroom, her hair wrapped in a towel.
‘Everything alright?’ she enquired.
‘No,’ replied Rose. ‘Jason’s buggering off again. He won’t be there when I get home. We won’t be talking about anything.’ She picked up her phone and showed Sal the text. ‘There’s no point in talking anyway. We’re pretty much over.’
Chapter Eleven
JoJo
The leader of the blonde pack was called Vanessa. She was the bride, also on her hen weekend. On the short trip down to the Lower Lawn, JoJo had heard all about her wedding plans: a Gatsby-themed reception in a Scottish castle; a glass Cinderella carriage complete with plumed white horses and pink velvet seats; a ‘surprise’ flash mob group dance rehearsed for the last year and a half at Pineapple Studios; and a ‘dove release’ at midnight, although Vanessa seemed to have no idea what would happen to the doves once they were romantically set free.
‘I think they just go off somewhere,’ she said, looking unconcerned. ‘We’ll have paid for them so what does it matter?’
‘It sounds lovely,’ uttered JoJo. They were on the lawn now and walking towards the oak tree. She realised she was the only one of the friends being remotely polite. The others were raising their eyebrows and poking each other in a highly conspicuous manner.
‘Oh, it will be,’ said Vanessa, fluttering her long, enhanced eyelashes. ‘Which one of you is getting married?’
‘It’s me,’ said Wendy. She was hardly full of the joys about it today, thought JoJo, and hadn’t been since yesterday evening’s declarations. When Sal had gone off to chat to Niall last night, JoJo had tried to talk to Wendy some more about Steve and the crazy ‘cancel the wedding’ nonsense, but Wendy had declared she was ‘too pissed’ to talk about it any more and clammed right up. It didn’t bode well, did it? The combination of an easy-going old flame who always made Wendy laugh and her doubts about marrying a man she considered way above her, after a too fast, whirlwind romance? It boded terribly. There was trouble afoot and it was up to the rest of them to keep it at bay, JoJo knew. Luckily, there had been no sign of Steve at all yet today, but he could be anywhere – lurking. They needed to stay alert.
‘Wonderful,’ said Vanessa, beaming a mega-watt smile at Wendy. ‘Are you having favours? I’m having hand-crafted, personalised soaps studded with diamanté and ginger and sealed in silk lilac pouches – to match the bridesmaids’ dresses. They’re going to be so amazing. People are going to be talking about my wedding for years.’
I bet they will, thought JoJo. They’ll be telling people how bloody awful and over-the-top it was. Despite the fact she made wedding dresses for people and put all her love, care and attention to detail into making them as beautiful as possible, JoJo thought most modern weddings were way too ostentatious. If she were ever going to get married – not that she was going to, in a million years – she’d have something very streamlined and classy, without all the ridiculousness.
‘I wonder who’s running this class,’ she said, in an attempt to steer Vanessa off the wedding path. ‘Will it be Paul again, do you think?’
‘I think he would have said,’ said Rose, walking to JoJo’s left. She got a certain look in her eye whenever he was mentioned and JoJo knew that she was also in the danger zone. Rose had mentioned the text from Jason at lunch. How Jason wouldn’t be home when she got back on Monday. That was a huge shame, thought JoJo, as Rose really needed to sort her marriage out as soon as possible, and it also increased the likelihood of her indulging in some serious flirting with Paul this weekend. Jason needed to make it back in time for Wendy’s wedding (Rose was already convinced he would miss it on purpose), as by then the marriage could be in serious trouble.
‘Lucinda?’ offered Sal. She’d had a quick micro-nap in the room after lunch, according to Rose, and had been running late; she’d only just caught them up. �
��She’d be a likely candidate. She was a bit mung bean.’
‘Possibly,’ said Wendy. No one dared suggest it might be Steve. JoJo bloody hoped not. It would be lovely if Wendy didn’t see Steve at all before they left tomorrow morning.
‘I had a guru once, during my gap month in India,’ piped up Vanessa as they reached the tree, smoothing her twenty-something hair. ‘He was really nice looking and ever so good at soothing my chakras. Bindi, his name was. Once, during an after-dark meditation session, he lulled me into a semi-orgasmic state.’
‘How lovely,’ said Sal, winking at the others, including Tamsin, who gave Sal a huge grin in return. ‘Thanks for sharing.’
‘Well, we might get someone similar,’ said Vanessa dreamily. ‘You look like you could do with a good soothe.’
‘I’m all good on the soothing front,’ said Sal. ‘Thanks for the concern though.’
The Lower Lawn was laid with black mats, in rows, facing a large pink one at the front. Perched on that mat, her braids tight to her head, was Heidi, from Reception.
‘Please tell me it’s not her,’ wailed Rose. ‘I don’t like her. She’s weird and mean.’
‘Oh God,’ echoed Sal, ‘she’ll be all precious and condescending. I don’t think I want to do any kind of gymnastics with her in charge!’
‘She might be all right,’ offered Wendy hopefully. ‘Give her a chance.’
‘Ladies!’ cried Heidi, as they came and took to their mats. ‘Welcome! Prepare to empty your minds and have your souls thoroughly cleansed.’
‘Fabulous!’ Sal muttered, a bit too loudly. ‘I don’t think I want to have my soul cleansed, thank you very much, and our guru is a teenage receptionist who won’t have a clue about some of the stuff in my mind,’ she added, her voice lowered further. ‘She wouldn’t believe half of it, for a start!’
‘Give her a chance,’ repeated Wendy. ‘Stop being such an old bat,’ she whispered. ‘A past-it old dragon.’
‘Cow!’ retorted Sal, sticking her tongue out at her.
Four Bridesmaids and a White Wedding: the laugh-out-loud romantic comedy of the year! Page 14
